


Glacial White

by SohlOrchid



Category: True Detective
Genre: F/M, Sex, early morning, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19661863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SohlOrchid/pseuds/SohlOrchid
Summary: Rust observes then wakes his lady before she has to leave their bed for the day.





	Glacial White

**Author's Note:**

> It's been sooooo long! Hi!
> 
> I was curious if Rust could see auras of individuals, an expansion maybe of his synesthesia. Also, I'm not one for the Rust/Marty ship. I know that's an unpopular opinion, but I feel like Rust would match best with someone as intense as him, someone he doesn't have to worry about defending or offending. Ana is about as serious as they come, (she also belongs to me and Rust does not). Anyway, this was a wandering drabble on Rust and how he would see auras in his observation of Ana's.

Rust knows he shouldn’t be here. Ana is more than a decade his junior, but he’s powerless to her. He craves her. Her steel and her light and her righteous vindication. They’re things he’s been missing for a long time, and he thinks just by tasting her he may be able to earn some of it back. Logically Rust knows it’s foolish thinking. Given enough time, enough wasted energy, Ana will be as jaded as the rest of them. But she holds herself above it. She paces herself as she holds firm what territory she’s gained, moving forward inch by inch. Maybe when she’s put as many years into the job as him she’ll be able to look back and see a wide city of protection rather than one safe block. Doubtful, but it could happen. Rust wants to see her try, and he wants to taste her victory. He’s never tasted such colors like the ones surrounding Ana. The purples of bad omens and danger swirl near every time she takes a case, but they’re always chased away by her ever present aura of glacial white. The magentas that come with political bullshit aren’t so easily conquered, but they only poke and prod, careful not to provoke. Rust has only seen Ana extend her reach once. A colleague attempted to circumvent her jurisdiction, and the man fell so fast and so hard it’s a wonder he retains status as special agent. Watching Ana’s anger darken from white to storm gray then finally burst into lightning-white was awesome and terrifying. That day the world tasted like the sharp tang of ozone. Even with the distance between them Rust could taste it on the air, but by the time she returned the fresh chill of snow crept in and quieted the world. No one’s attempted to cross Ana since, which means she has more time for Rust.

Beside him in bed she is relaxed and soft. In a few hours her walls will raise again, the hard planes and angles of her mind will sharpen into spikes and shields. She is beautiful in her armor, impenetrable and fierce, but she’s just as gorgeous without. The long length of her body stretches across the mattress, the shallow curves enticing his eyes. The pale expanse of skin refuses to blend to the shadows, highlighting softly defined muscles and vivid scars. There are not many of the latter, but they paint a grim picture. The perfect circle of a bullet pocks the back of her shoulder while the front webs into fine lattice work, the remnant of surgery to repair her collarbone. The fine line of a blade leaps the width of her thigh, and the chaotic pattern of roadburn scales her left hip. Most will never see these sacrifices; they will never know the change of texture. Only Rust is afforded that privilege, one he exercises now.

Ana sleeps deeply and dreams very little. She does not notice as Rust slides closer, his weight dipping the bed and his calloused fingertips skimming the soft skin of her arm. She does not stir as he bows his head and presses a dry kiss to her shoulder. Pulling her against him only results in a content sigh, one he aches to hear again. Rust chases her noises, coaxing them from her as he presses his nose to her jaw and scrapes his teeth against the shell of her ear. Ana rises from sleep slowly. She rolls toward him, still not entirely conscious, and Rust presses into the scar low on her abdomen. She lost a child once, like him and yet not at all the same. When first they found themselves in bed together, he hesitated at the obvious badge of motherhood. Ana did not retract from him; she simply awaited his reaction, a carefully crafted mask of indifference on her face. Rust didn’t ask for the history. Instead, he worshiped the scar, an act he has repeated several times since and one he performs now.

He traces the scar with his thumb before following an invisible line up to the center of her chest. He flattens his palm then, searching for the steady rhythm of her heart. He closes his eyes, listening and feeling as her life beats beneath him. For all she is frozen blue, she is a fiery orange at her center, like a tundra sunrise. He hears her skin slide against the cotton sheets before he feels the cool press of her hand against his face, and finally Rust opens his eyes.

If there is a color to define Ana’s eyes he doesn’t know it. “Hey,” he whispers in the quiet of the room.

A sleepy smile pulls the corners of her lips, and when she answers her voice is low and rasped. “Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ana never snorts, but a soft rush of air escapes her in amusement. “Yes you did.”

“You’re right, I did.”

Rust pushes himself up and over her, settling between her legs which part to accommodate him. He braces himself on his elbows to keep his weight off her and bows his head to kiss her sternum. In return her knees rise to cradle him between her thighs and her long fingers comb his hair. He watches her beneath his lashes, observing as Ana tips her head back and rests her eyes, but that won’t do. Now that he has had a small taste of her attention he craves more, always more. Rust slides down the bed, kissing the smooth expanse of her torso as he goes. Her legs lower to provide him space to maneuver, and then he pulls her thighs against his shoulder. Knowing what he plans now, Ana opens her eyes and lifts her head to watch. He grips one thigh and angles his arm around the other, teasing the sensitive skin of her mons. The fire within her isn’t stoked yet, but Rust is a patient man. He kisses the skin where thigh meets body then nips lightly. Amusement is the reaction he receives, evidenced by Ana’s careful pull of his ear. The first battle is won; he has her attention. The challenging part is to keep it, but Rust has been afforded practice. Rather then part her folds and test her readiness with his fingers, he lowers his head and laps at her, tongue strong enough to slip between her lips and press firmly. Ana throws her head back on a gasp, her platinum hair fanning through the air until it settles around her as a wide halo.

“Ugnn!” Ana groans, fingers tightening in his hair and hips angling toward him for more.

Rust complies, following his path up her folds again before licking back down. Ana has always been reactive to his attentions, craving him nearly as much as he craves her. She makes a conscious effort not to hurt him as he sweeps her away with pleasure. With some effort her fingers untangle from his hair and curl into the sheets instead. Rust is disappointed that her touch leaves him, but it’s replaced with satisfaction as her hips rock, setting him to the rhythm she desires.

It isn’t long before Ana’s juices dampen his chin. He keeps her still with his hand on her thigh, strong fingers squeezing with every wayward thrust she gives. His other he pulls from atop her and toward his chest before he teases her entrance with one digit. He takes his time, opening her to him with advancement and retreat, the processes repeated over and over until his middle finger is sheathed within her. Then he pulls back and gives her two just as his teeth graze her clit. Ana nearly bolts upright. She is not against teeth or bites, but it’s not a heavily used option. Rust seals his lips around that sensitive bundle of nerves and sucks, intent on unleashing her storm, but Ana is having none of it. She presses her heels into the bed and lifts her hips from his reach. Rust blinks stupidly at her, disoriented and lost in his lust. As always, Ana guides him. She cradles his face in her hands and coaxes him up. He complies willingly, crawling over her heeding to her kisses.

Ana kisses him deeply, chasing the taste of herself in his mouth then licks clean his chin. Rust allows her manipulation of him, turning his head this way and that as she works. He lowers his weight to her, grinding his hard length against her core. He works himself into desperation, sliding himself against her wetness, against her pearl, until he can take no more. Then he cants his hips, slots himself against her entrance, and presses in. One long, smooth thrust and he is within her, seated to the root. Ana’s breath stutters, her pale eyes burning with desire as she stares up at him. Rust can feel the weight of her gaze but he doesn’t see it. He’s so enraptured in pleasure his eyes flutter closed. He breathes deeply, controlling himself although it will be in vain. In a few hours Ana will be gone, at least for the day, and he’s desperate to have her before that happens. He forces his eyes open and meets her gaze, matches her fire. Rust brushes back her hair and kisses her tenderly, but then there is only a shared goal.

Rust pulls his hips back slowly, enjoying the soft sigh Ana breathes, and then he snaps forward. He sets a quick and brutal pace, holding her in place by lifting her leg to his hip and curling his fingers against her scared shoulder. Now that he has used his teeth he can’t seem to stop, and he presses his incisors against her flesh, worrying any skin he can reach. Ana does not often deliver a measure of pain, but this morning he has tempted her to it. Her nails rake down his back, leaving long red welts and drawing a deep groan from him. Rust folds his legs, pressing his knees into the mattress and so increasing his leverage. He rises over her, takes the narrow swell of her hips in his hands, and pounds. Ana braces herself against the headboard, back bowing as the new angle has him hitting the glorious spot within her unerringly. The air thickens into a heady, humid fog. Rust watches as the orange within her catches wind and flares out, the fire of her bleeding into his green. She consumes him, sapping his breath and encasing him in her inferno.

As long as it takes to reach the precipice, they fall over it in an instant. Ana shakes around him, her core strangling him to stillness. Her muscles convulse from her curling toes to the tension that locks her jaw and throws her head back. And Rust willingly drowns. He thrusts twice more then presses as deep as possible, spilling himself within her. He sees and hears nothing, and he ceases to breathe. When next he draws breath, he manages to open his eyes and finds himself bowed over her. His crown presses to her sweat slicked front, his breath rushing over her skin and raising goosebumps. Rust releases her hips with some effort but not his touch, sliding his fingers instead to her thighs that rest over his. Ana is boneless now. All the tension he pursued within her is spent. She gasps for breath, chest rising and falling. She watches him, however, from beneath a wayward lock of hair and thick lashes, her eyes heavy but still lust blown and steaming.

“Hey,” Rust croaks. He feels as if he works twice as hard as normal to speak that one word.

Another amused breath flutters the lock of hair across Ana’s face. “Hi.” This time her voice is strong and clear.

He throws her a smug grin. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Yes,” she says, “you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> My brain doesn't have the attention span for lengthy plots. Maybe one day I'll get one posted, but the individual pieces are almost heavier and more meaningful to me. Like a point that's got to be made right damn now or it never leaves me alone.


End file.
